"Your father's name, I mean."
"Nebber had any fader, sah. He sold down souf, fore I's born."
"Your second name, then."
"Same's yours, massa, I s'pose."
"Hum—How old are you?"
Brick scratched his head reflectively. "Don' jes' know, massa, 'zactly. Spec' bout—bout—fifteen or—twenty, sah; jess 's massa likes."
Bergan bit his lip. Never had he met with such a spirit of accommodation.
"Well, Brick," he asked, after a moment, "if you had a half-holiday, now, what would you do with it?"
Brick's face grew radiant through all its dusk. "Go a-fishin', massa," he burst out, eagerly; "I jes' should!"
"Well, go fishing, then,—if you think you can be back by supper-time."